Artie ties a towel around his waist and picks me up. “You need to rest. There’s a whole herd of people downstairs who want to see you, but I’ll tell them you’re okay. Well, not okay. But getting there?”
“People?”
“The Pine Ridge Coven—that’s Tessa, Madge, Mrs. Fenclan, and a couple of other folks I don’t know, are re-warding the house and erasing blood stains out of the carpet. Charlotte and Robbie are doing something in the kitchen. Milo and Libby are babysitting Laurel and Illias. That big gargoyle and the centaur are fixing doors. Mr. Minegold is pacing. I think he’s like the unofficial mayor of this place, and he wants to do a debrief—and he said he finally got through to some of his old krampus contacts and he wants to speak to you about them.”
I brace myself. “Bad news?”
“No, I don’t think so. He didn’t look upset. Well, he did, but only because there was an attack.”
"Oh my God. The body. The police...”
“Police already came. There’s a pooka on the force.”
“What’s a pooka?”
“It’s an Irish fae shape-shifting thing. He wrote up the incident as home intruder repelled by heroic lady of the house.”
“That’s it? No murder? No death?”
Artie shrugs. “There wasn’t a body by the time I came back down from getting you upstairs.”
“What? Where is it?” Is he really dead? If he’s alive, I’m not a killer—but I want him to be dead, so... I shake my head.
“Uh, yeah. Alban Wymark stopped over. He said not to worry about it, and they’ll explain when you’re better.”
Artie carries me out of the bathroom. The hall is quiet, but voices hum from downstairs. “I want Laurel,” I say.
“I’ll get her.” Artie puts me on the bed, and something else clears in my sluggish, overwhelmed brain.
“Wait.”
“What, honey?” He pauses in the midst of pulling on clothes.
“There are people here.”
“I know. I told you. Milo, Libby, Tessa, Charlotte, Robbie, Mr. Minegold, the centaur—his name is Neville. Or Nigel. Nigel!” Artie snaps his fingers and puts his glasses on. “Babe, did he hit your head? Do you remember me telling you that?”
“No, no. I mean, yeah, I know you said that. But they’re here. They’re not mad at me?”
“What? No! Sweetie, if a human woman got attacked by a crazy child-abducting maniac, and she defended herself and her baby, people would put it in all the papers. There would be parades. Statues made of her. I don’t understand why you think you did anything wrong.”
“Because he only came because of me. He only got in because of me. And then... Because I didn’t just hold him off, I ripped off a horn!” I touch my own broken nubs. “I killed him, and Ilikedit.”
That freaks me out. I feel sick. I wait for Artie to look sick, too. He doesn’t. He pulls on a t-shirt and says, “Okay. So, there’s a houseful of other monsters and humans here. Wanna kill them?”
“What!? Oh my God, no!” I screech and clap my hands over my mouth. “Arthur Taylor—”
“Imogene, I don’t think you enjoyed killing. I think you enjoyed ending the life of a murdering intruder who wanted totake our daughter. You are not a killer. You are a mother.” He sits next to me on the bed, takes my hands in his, and kisses them fervently. “You are the mother of my child. Of our children. The heart of the home, the defender of our home. You deserve someone who can protect you, who will never let you be put in this position again.”
My fingers cling to his, “I don’t want anyone else. You protect me all the time, in ways you don’t even realize.”
“Not tonight. Not when it counted.”
“You can’t beat yourself up.”
“Then neither can you.” Artie rises. “I’ll get the baby.”
Chapter Eighteen: December Second
